


These pathetic conversations

by saturnina



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bromance, Gen, Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnina/pseuds/saturnina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony sullenly muses about what being a hero means, and Steve decides to chime in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These pathetic conversations

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Tony/Steve piece... it's very subtle, more bromance than slash. But hopefully it'll be interesting, even if it's not sexy... for what it's worth, I had fun writing it!

It was not that saving the world and suffering the eternal gratitude of human race was bad for Tony. No, it was actually _good_ for him: it brought him _more_ fame (now embellished with the gilded luster of selfless glory), _more_ money (not that he needed but it always came in handy, specially when one had to provide for a bunch of heroes who were very good at saving the world and terrible at generating income) and made his company's stock sky-rocket on Wall Street. 

In fact, that pack of vultures-in-suits were now raising a ruckus, biting each other's head off in order to become important shareholders, and doing it loudly so that Tony would remember them should catastrophe arrive. Actually all they got from Tony was a scornful snicker behind the back, though they would never know this fact if the billionaire could help it.

He knew how the business world worked, but in retrospect it all felt a bit pathetic.

Pepper was sleeping in their room but he could not share her peace. He was sitting outside, at the top of the Avenger's base, a glass of Macallan 40 being his only company. The sky hung above him like an endless canopy of dark blue, occasionally marred by a cloud. Beautiful night, Tony thought. Too bad it felt a bit pathetic.

Everything felt a bit pathetic. The Stark Tower, the collection of behemoths he shared quarters with, their mission, their heroic mien, his armour, his life, even his goddamned expensive Scotch, all felt a bit pathetic. 

No, it was not saving the world that bothered him. It was this piercing scepticism about everything, a frightening doubt that took hold of him, usually in the middle of the night, and made him wonder why they bothered. 

He had never wanted to be a hero, originally. Alright, he enjoyed basking under the spotlight. But _hero_ was becoming so much more than that. So many responsibilities, people counting on him not to simply put the money where the mouth was (quite literally in his case), but to be in the front line of the barrier between salvation and destruction.

And he felt... he felt...

His armour had first been a life-saving device, then a fun thing. How did this evolve into this giant rock they kept rolling uphill, just to watch it roll down in the end? Kill a villain, exterminate alien army, rebuild New York… two weeks later, everything is lost again in fiery bouts of megalomania, courtesy some Mr. Whomever who reckoned that destroying the world was the _proper_ way of dealing with his psychological issues.

Quite tiring. Quite pathetic, really.

He didn't think he genuinely had it in him. The hero thing. Not really. He did his best, but sometimes he kind of missed his old playboy self who showed how much he cared with a flash of platinum credit card, instead of putting his own life at stake. 

Not to mention that he had ended up with the difficult task of leading his Avengers… honestly, herding cats through the Red Sea would have been an easier task. Consensus was generally an unknown word in their vocabulary, and any attempts at exploring its meaning were futile until the enemy got the complete upper hand. Then—and _only_ then—the Avengers would agree to agree for a change.

All worked out in the end, but Tony felt tired. He had no idea how some people managed to—

"Tony?"

—cling so faithfully to their hero role all the time. _Shit_.

"Steve."

Oh, goodness. The one person who would _not_ understand his problem. 

"You should sleep."

"No," Tony answered, pointing at Steve with his glass, " _you_ should sleep. _I_ should sit here and drink."

Steve rolled his eyes, and then moved to sit on the floor beside Tony. 

"I can't sleep."

Tony feigned a look of utter shock.

"No shit! What about the sleep of the innocent?"

To his surprise, instead of looking offended, Steve smiled.

"If there is one thing we are not, it's _innocent_ , don't you think?"

"Speak for yourself. I'm as innocent as a hatchling."

He smirked, finally taking a sip from that glass that had, for the last hour, simply decorated his hand. Again, Steve surprised him by smirking too, which proved that the uptight Captain was finally discovering the wonders of a sense of humour. Tony snorted at his own musings, attracting the other's attention.

"So, you sit here alone to amuse yourself?"

"Yes, my thoughts happen to be far more amusing than the Beverly Hills 90210 reruns on television."

Steve cocked an eyebrow, but decided to refrain from commenting. Sometimes it seemed to him Tony spoke in another language, which was at the same time fascinating and infuriating. 

"What were you thinking about?" Steve asked, nudging Tony with his elbow.

"Tits and expensive cars," the other quipped.

"Oh c'mon..."

"I'm serious! 'Sides, that's what playboys think about."

"And are playboys bad liars too or you're just an exception?"

Tony stared at him, eyes alight with an expression that was at the same time humorous and wistful. 

"They tend to be bad liars. But then, they have enough money to pay people into believing them."

"So they buy people?"

"Yep," Tony took another sip from his drink, "and usually people stand in the line and beg to be bought quite cheap."

"Ah, but that wouldn't work with me."

Then it crossed Tony's mind the absurd notion that Steve was actually trying to have a conversation with him, a real one, in modern terms, instead of his usual aggrieved, holier-than-thou preaching about shoulds and woulds. Tony decided that he liked this, this normalcy, and in fact felt _grateful_ for the avenger's sincere effort.

"No, I s'ppose it'd not. You're too much of a hero."

Steve shrugged, nonchalantly. "So are you."

"Nah, I was not born a hero."

Silence befell them as both pondered over this strange word, _hero_ , by which they all lived in a kind of awkward idolatry, trying to honour it but feeling they were never good enough to be counted among its ranks.

"You know," Steve muttered, "I don't think anyone is born a hero. I think it's like with artists... or writers... we do it because it's the only thing we can do. Because it's the only way we can exist. Seems noble and selfless... but ultimately we do it for ourselves. The alternative of a normal life... would be death, for the likes of us."

Steve stopped talking and sighed, letting his head bump a bit too hard against the wall behind him. He kept his eyes on the dark skies, not noticing how Tony looked at him, with a jot of involuntary admiration in his eyes. Because even in his shy demise of heroism, the captain looked, yes, noble and selfless, like a perfect hero, and there was nothing pathetic about him. He made it glorious.

Tony always felt he was trying too hard, but for Steve it all came so naturally. Even if the captain denied, he had it in him. And Tony wished he could steal some of that light, so much brighter than the spotlights and flashes... steal, because platinum credit cards were pretty useless in these situations. 

"I guess we are a bunch of abnormalities with a conscience," Steve mused, and that made Tony laugh.

"Well, I could still be a good playboy."

Steve look at him, lips curled in a smile that failed to become a real grin, despite the captain's best efforts. Tony just shrugged, and quaffed the rest of his drink.

"Maybe in the past, yes," Steve commented, "but now you're hopeless. Sorry."

Tony widened his eyes in mock offence and he elbowed the captain in the ribs

"Don't sass your elders!"

"Actually, I am the oldest guy here."

"Yeah, with that face smooth like a baby's ass... who's gonna believe you!?"

They teased and taunted each other for the rest of the night, before sleep began to creep in and their drollery slowed down. Tony saw Steve's head loll and search unconsciously for his shoulder, and felt his cheek rest against the captain's soft hair before he could prevent it. 

And that's how the sun found them, slumped together against the wall, snuggling and nearly drooling on each other. If Tony could see them, he'd probably find the scene _more_ than a bit pathetic... But the sun cared not for such distinctions, and as it rose, its light bathed them in what was simply innocence.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Disclaimer:** None of the characters mentioned in this fanfic belong to me, and nothing said here about them is true. No copyright infringement is intended.


End file.
